Despair is such a beautiful word
by Red Crow
Summary: This is mostly my emotional situation right now. There is a summary inside.
1. Prologue

Preview

(A/N)This is something that I would like to ask. Today, my teacher had a little melt down. I don't mean for it to be funny, because she felt horrible and was crying. But the things she said…I think they made me have a relapse. I had been in a depression and suicidal when I was younger, and have since had mini-depressions, but now I feel horrible. I feel kinda emotionless and I…I think I might be starting to hate myself again. She said that we were all such idiots that only loved ourselves. I thought, that maybe I shouldn't love myself at all. I had just stopped hating myself this year, but now, I hate myself a little bit. I was selfish, I didn't think about anyone else, I was stupid, and now I really want to cry. But crying does nothing for me. No one helps, no one listens when I actually tried to talk, and no one even sees when I try to show them. They all think that I can't feel these things, that I'm just joking, that I'm not serious, I don't understand why they think this. I'm a person, not some machine, and I feel. I'm emotionally stunted, I admit it right now, I can't understand anger because I don't ever feel it so deeply. I get angry, and then I forget, my memory doesn't allow me to do it. So I can't understand many emotions. But that doesn't mean that I can't feel them deeply. I feel things deeply, though shortly. If I'm sad, I feel like my world changes, and it is never the same again.

I wrote this here because I would like to know, should I even love myself if there is little reason for me to. Should I hate myself because of the failures I have made? Should I ask for help? I'm asking because I don't know you people and you don't know me, so you can speak objectionably? Without discrimination. If you don't want to reply, than that's okay. But this will be the basis for a story. This will be worked into the story.

I've been in a funk for a while, and I feel like I need to write something with a different mood. So this story comes into mind. This is meant to be sad, and the ending might be sad, or it might not. Thing is, this story is to help me get through some things. Thank you for your time. Here is what will set the mood for the story.

/Harry talking next/

If I shouldn't love myself and no one else loves me, then what should I do?

Is it enough that God loves me when no one else does?

Is it enough that I can barely feel a thing now, yet I hate myself again?

When I had started to love myself?

Yet her words made me think not.

I should not love myself, I should not care at all.

My heart bleeds again, and myself is cold inside.

I hate myself, I love myself.

I don't know, I don't understand.

Why, why, what should I feel?

What should I feel?

When no one seems to love me at all?

When I can barely love myself?

(Summary) The story is that Harry has been abandoned by his family at age five. When he was three, he hated himself, and his family did not even care. They treated him as a thing that did not need to be there. He was kept away from the world, he was given no love. And like many children, he thought that it was his fault. But then he started to think, and started to love himself. Until his mother said horrible words to him. He hated himself again. And soon after, he ran away, abandoned by those who should have loved him. He lived alone on the streets, he lost his innocent heart, and he learned horrible things. And after many years, he is found, singing and working in an all creature club. He had forsaken his name, and had given himself new life. Will his parents find forgiveness in his eyes, or will they find hate? Or perhaps, they will find nothing at all?

(A/N) This story is to help me, and maybe you people too if you need it. You don't need to love it. You can hate it, but right now, I can't help feel anything except wanting to cry. This doesn't mean that I am abandoning my other stories, but it does mean that updates will be slow. I hope you will be patient with me. Goodbye.


	2. Chapter 1Harry

Chapter 1

**(A/N)** I feel like I sound pathetic in the preview, but I'm glad I wrote it. I felt better after having written it. I guess having someone to talk to is good, even if they're strangers. Thank you for the kind words feral93. Onto the story!

Why? That was the question that he wanted answered. Why? He had asked it so much when he was younger. Though he was six now, he still wanted to know why. Though even with the curiosity, he no longer cared. What did it matter to him anymore. He no longer lived with those people, and no longer wanted to even be of their blood.

He looked behind him at the small opening that led into a thick forest. He had found the forest when he had run away, and it had been a good place for him. In that forest, he had lost the remaining delusions he held about life. He had seen a man come into the forest, and while he had hid, the man had dragged a woman deep into the trees. The man had then raped her, though he had not known it then.

She had screamed and tried to fight, but he had beaten her, until she was bloody and could barely move. He had hurt her, and continued to beat her, her blood had stained the forest floor. And then, she had bled, with tears falling down her face, with dirt in her hair and fluid dripping between her legs. The man had hit her some more, before standing and laughing down at her. Then he had left, he had left the forest, with the woman he had raped in it. Knowing that she would die alone and afraid.

Harry had gone to her, his eyes already dark from what he himself had experienced. He had knelt by her head, and she had looked at him, with tears and mucus dripping off her face, and saliva down her chin. She had looked at him, and with her eyes, she had asked him to end it. She had asked him to end her suffering. So he had. He had touched her with a finger between her naked breasts. His finger touched her slick and feverish skin, and he had sent a tendril of magic into her. The magic had been sent, to let her sleep, and that was what it did. It had let her sleep, the sleep that would never be broken.

He had looked at her, at her glazed eyes, eyes that had no life. He had felt, nothing. What did it matter to him if he had killed her? She had been suffering, she had asked him to end it, and he had done so. But he would not do it for free, for what he had done, he searched her pockets, he found money, and he found a picture. In the picture, there was a child in the woman's arms.

When he had seen the child, he had felt a small sorrow. For now the child would be alone. The child would have no mother, and might live in a world that would only show him cruelty.

Harry had decided on his payment, he would take the child, he would keep the child as his own. But before that, he had to learn more, he had to learn all that the forest had to teach him, and then he would find more teachers, till he learned it all.

With his choice made, he had left, after asking the forest to take the body inside itself. Then he had gone deeper into the forest, till he was at the heart, where he had made his nest. The nest had been made of soft moss and crisp leaves. It was protected from rain by the thick canopy above. He had gone into his nest, and had lain down on his side. He had closed his eyes, and opened his mind. With his mind open, the forest had rushed into his mind, changing it to what he wished. He wished to be able to learn and understand all things. But most of all, he wished to be able to grant wishes, and to know his magic as deeply as possible. His magic had always been with him, holding him, comforting him, keeping him warm when his family would leave him outside in the cold. And when he had been four, it had finally spoken to him, with sweet words and embraces, with kind eyes and loving arms. It had loved him, so he wished to know his magic more, to know all there was about magic.

His wish, had been granted, and even if he had thought so, the forest was not a simple forest, it was the place that the earth and magic had chosen as their heart. It was protected, and very few could ever truly go into it. It only allowed those it wished to come, like the killer. For what the man had done, he had died, ad was still dying. The forest roots had grabbed hold of him, and as he had been held, small tendrils of roots had slipped into every orifice. Into his skin, his mouth, his asshole, his dick, his ears, his nostrils, everywhere it could. And in agonizing slowness, the roots had moved inside his body. For what he had done, he would be in pain for years, for when he was close to dying, the forest healed him, only to start the process again. He would die, after the forest was done with him, after it chose to let him go.

Harry turned around and stopped remembering, he would go into the world, he would learn more. He would get stronger, and then, he would live his life. He would live, he would learn, he would be content. He started to walk away, a small figure against the backdrop of the world. With night black hair past his shoulders, green eyes as beautiful as they were haunting, and skin as pale as that of a fabled princess. He had a beautiful face, though he was still yet a child, and as the future came near, he would only grow more beautiful. Till one day, he would catch the heart of a king that none had thought could love. Till then, the boy named Harry walked away from the heart that had been his mother and father, the heart that had taught him what many could only dream about.

Harry, no, he would need to change his name, walked away, to a future that he did not wish to know. All others he would know, but his own future, he could not yet see. He walked, unaware that his small shadow would one day be large enough to encompass the world.

**(A/N)** did you like it? This is actually helping me, and I feel glad about what I have written. I hope you review, but I guess it's good as long as you like it.


	3. Chapter 2Michael

Chapter 2

**(A/N)** I feel better now, though I still have some angst. I really like this fanfic now. Remember, reviews are what I breathe.

And look at this inspirational message from Safuuru! This person is AWESOMEE! YOU are awesome, and the reason I uploaded this before the next month. I plan on updating once a month to let you know.

onto the story!

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><p>The boy, his name was Michael.<p>

Michael, had been happy once, when he still had his mother. But then the man had come, the man who everyone thought was so nice and good. The man who was his father. Michael may have only been six years old, but he knew that his mother did not love his father. He knew that his father was not a nice man. He knew, that one day, his father would do something bad to his mother.

He had come one day into their house. Michael had just come back from school, and his mother was making a snack for him. There had been a knocking at the door, and when his mother had gone to open it, he had come in. he had been big and mean, and his eyes made Michael afraid. He had yelled at his mother, and then he had hit her. Michael had been afraid, and had tried to stop him, but he had hit Michael too.

That had been the beginning of the bad times, and with it had come many days where Michael had felt as if the world were going all dark and cold. He had stopped being a happy child, he had stopped having light in his eyes. When the man-his father-came, he stopped believing in a good world.

The days became a strange and dark routine. Full of days when his mother cried and had bruises, to days where he heard screaming and the sounds of skin hitting skin. On those days, he would cry, while hiding in the closet after his mother told him to. But as the days grew, he stopped crying. He was weak, he was weak. He could not protect his mother from that man, he could do nothing to help her. And he hated that about himself.

Soon a year was gone and he was even. That was the year, that his father took his mother somewhere, and they never came back. He waited for them to come back. He waited for as long as he could, until one day, men came. And took him away. They told him that his father had been a bad man. That he had hurt other people, and killed some. They told him that his mother was dead, and then they said that he would be okay. They lied.

They took him to a strange place with other children. They said it was foster care, and that they would find a good home for him. The other children told him stories of bad homes. On boy told him about a man who had adopted him and three others. The man had done things to them, bad things that hurt. The man had also gotten others who did those things to him too. The boy was ten, and he said that one day, when he was big and strong, he would kill all the bad men in the world. He said that it had been a bad man who had killed his father. And it was all their fault. He would never forgive them.

The boy had left after that, with the three others. Michael found out that the three of them had run away, and that they could not be found by the police. He thought that that was what they wanted, and that they were happier now. He was wrong, but they would all meet again in the future. But until then, he would be given to a home where he would become something he had never wanted.

He was eight when they found him a home, and that home had a woman and a man. There were five other children in the home, and at first it seemed like a good home. Until the woman made him work. She made him clean and cook for them. The others had to work too, but they were working bad jobs. Sometimes, there would be men who could some to the house, and they would take one of the two girls or one of the three boys.

After that, he would hear the same sounds that he had heard his mother make. Bad sounds, horrible sounds. He hated being in that house, he hated the man and woman. He hated the people who looked the other way. He hated them, and he wanted them to die. This went on for a year, until the day he turned nine. That day, they said that he could start working like the others.

He learned many things then, many words and many ways to hate someone. He learned what a dick was, and learned what a blowjob was. He learned that there were people who would look out for him, and he learned that adults were all evil. He hated them, and he wanted to kill them even more. That was the year that he learned that he had a special power inside. He could do things, he could make people do things and move fast. That was the year, that he finally killed someone.

It had been a man, who had come and taken him to a room. The man had taken off his pants, and had looked at him with bad eyes. In those eyes, he had seen what the man would do. He would hurt him, like the others had told him. The man wanted to penetrate him. The man had grabbed him, and he had been scared, more scared than he had ever been. The man had started putting his dick near his butthole, and then he had used it. It had been like something inside him broke, and it had seen the man.

The man didn't die then, but that was not what Michael wanted. In an instant, he knew that he could make the man do anything, and so he had. He'd made the man go down and pick up the phone. He had made the man call the police and say that he was going to kill the whole house. And then, he had made the man go into all the rooms, and kill the other men and women there. When the police had come, only the man and woman who lived in the house, and the man with the knife remained. Michael and the others had run away. They did not trust the police, they did not want to be put in bad houses again. They did not want to go back to the adults that had hurt them so much. So they left.

They found an empty house, and they lived there. It was hard, and they had no money. But whenever adults came near them, they would run away. They might have died that year, but then, _he _came.

Michael was ten years old when he came. He was a small boy, with big green eyes, and black hair. He had been pretty, but in his eyes, Michael had seen pain like his. He had been hurt by adults too, he had been hurt by them and discarded by them.

His said that he had no name yet, that he was looking for one. He said that he had been searching for Michael, and then he showed him the picture. The picture with his mom in it. He had told Michael about the man coming to the forest and killing the woman. He had told him that he had let his mother sleep, and that Michael was his price. He wanted Michael, for having ended her pain.

Michael had looked at him, and had seen his eyes. Michael had watched as a small hand was raised to him. He had taken the hand. He wanted to follow the boy, he wanted to be his. Everyone else had lied to him, but the small boy hadn't. He told him what he wanted, and Michael trusted him. He did not know why, but he did.

The boy had said they would leave soon, but Michael had asked him about the others. The boy had looked at him, then at the others. He had blinked, and then had smiled. He said that if they came with him, they would be his. They would belong to him, and he would be their master. He would never let them be hurt by others; he would not let others use them. But they would belong to him. Could they live with that, could they be his forever? Could they be all that he wanted if he asked? Could they be his slaves if he wished it?

They had looked at him, and had seen something dark and cold, something that would never let them go after they became his, something that would kill to keep them as his. They had looked at him, and they had seen him, and they had loved him. They did not know why, but they became his. Better to have a master that would not lie to you. Better to have a master that would not hurt you with lies and words. Better to have a master that would hurt you and tell you why. They became his that year.

That was the start of their journey, a journey that would lead them to many places. A journey that would gain them many friends and family. A journey, where they all obeyed their master, and where they became strong. Stronger than many others in the world. That was the beginning, of the group that would be called Eius Fidus Bestias-his loyal beasts. It was also the beginning, of the boy who would one day gain the heart of a king and be protected by the descendant of a king. That was the beginning, of a small boy with green eyes, and the power to be loved. That was the beginning of Tradidit Amare-betrayed love.

**(A/N)** The situation about the man pimping out his ten year old adopted son and raping his three adopted sons and adopted daughter was true. It is sick and I hope that man rots, but it's true.

**Tradidit Amare** is Latin for betrayed love. That is Harry's new name.

The others will have names too, but you won't find out till the Potters find Harry. One more childhood will be told, and then the story will begin. Enjoy.

This is the most inspirational and bestest review I have had so far, that I can remember. So read it! I think I love you for writing this. If we ever meet, I'll give you a big hug!

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><p>I've read many of your stories, and enjoyed everything I've read. That said, I feel that you should know that I consider this to be one of the finest pieces you've written. I was absolutely riveted by the storyline. I am very much looking forward to reading more.<p>

On a more personal note: Your teacher is an idiot. I'm sure others, if you've mentioned what happened to them and they actually had the brains to listen to you, have said similar things, but I want to reiterate it: He/She is an idiot. I know saying 'Just ignore them' is tripe crap that isn't going to happen, so I won't even try that kind of line. What I can say is this.

You ask if you should love yourself when there is little reason too. I say, you should love yourself because you are alive, human, and beautiful. More reasons will present themselves in due time. Before you say it, I don't need to see you to say that. Anyone who would even voice such a sentiment qualifies as beautiful, and the other two go without saying.

Should you hate yourself because of failures that you have made? No. Consider this. Without failure, we do not learn. We all fail. We all make mistakes. And we all have to get up and keep going, otherwise we would spend our entire lives crawling because we wouldn't actually learn to walk, yes? Failing at something does not make you bad, it is not a personal reflection on you as a person, because no one is perfect. If you failed at something, well, then learn more and try again if it's something you really want to do, or focus your energies into something else that you have an interest in, based on your preference.

Should you ask for help? Why not? It doesn't have to be someone IRL, it doesn't even have to be someone you know personally. You can ask here, you can ask family, you can ask friends, I would avoid the moronic buffoon of a teacher that you mentioned though.

I have been on the edge of the abyss. I had no one at one point. I despised myself. I wanted everything to fade away, especially myself. I felt completely isolated and estranged from my family, and the few friends I had were superficial at best. I had 2 friends that were actually there for me, but when I moved we had a lot of trouble keeping in touch, hence the spiral into feeling like I had no one at all. As for teachers...let's just not even go there in my case. If you need to talk, I am here. If you don't want too, that's ok too. I will try to help if I can, and if you want someone else to talk too, I'm not going to be offended or anything given you don't know me other than that I like your writing and think you seem like a decent person.

Ok, now that I've gone a bit overboard probably with the seriousness, I just want to reiterate that I loved the story you started here.

~~Safiiri


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